The Return
by fairious
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is about to close in once and for all upon the final, strongest thread of Moriarity's web of crime- that of the masterted gunman Sebastian Moran. Every day, he is getting closer and closer to finally clearing his name once and for all but everything changes when Sherlock finds out a hostage may stand in his way of finally completing his 3 year mission- John Watson.


**Chapter 1**

**An Impossible Text**

As the mobile sounded incessantly for about the eighth time that evening, the lone man cursed quietly under his breath. He resigned to ducking into what appeared to be an abandoned alleyway to check the blasted thing at last, utterly annoyed at the abrupt disruption of his train of thought. If he had been completely honest with himself, to be frank, he was shocked at hearing the tone at all- almost startled even. After all, is was quite unusual for a dead man to receive texts.

Thinking he would check it out later after he tracked down his next target, Sherlock Holmes had stowed the phone into his inside pocket and decided to focus upon his plan of action. However, by the time the phone had gone off more than seven more times, Sherlock, much to his displeasure, realized he could hardly ignore its presence any longer. Once again he cursed at his stupidity for not initially opting for a newer phone with an actually _functioning_ silent feature. What was the point in even keeping this phone? After all there was no one, at least moderately capable enough, to trace him if he were to get a new number with his constantly adapting identity. Sadly however he was struck with the memory of his own words: _Sentiment- A chemical defect in the losing side. _He chuckled sadly, he had finally fallen victim to his own harsh judgment.

Finally, accepting that if he didn't accept these texts quick enough more would undoubtedly be sent, making his position even more conspicuous, Sherlock decided upon steering himself into the darkest corner of the alley to examine his messages that the sender had seemed so eager for him to read.

His initial deduction about the sender before snapping his phone open was that it must be either a homeless operative of his or else perhaps one of his very few allies he had made over the course the past three years under his false identity. Probably just checking in, or perhaps sending him some new information this last and seemingly ultimatum of figures left of the nearly destroyed web Moriarity had created.

This Sebastian Moran, as Sherlock had found out from scraps of intel from all over Europe over the past 6 weeks, had been most likely Moriarity's top operative and therefore was at the center to his web of crime. Undercover, Sherlock had researched to the point of no bounds and was satisfied at his nearing completion of his search for the elusive gunman and was confident that in a few days short time- he would catch the bastard red-handed. Finally, with this final blow, he would bring down the web of crime he had been fighting against ever since his apparent "fall from grace" in both the figurative and seemingly literal sense. _He would be free- he would finally clear his name and once again Sherlock Holmes would rise again._

Still lost in thought over his inevitable victory soon to take place, Sherlock did not initially recognize and take in the message that someone seemed so keen for him to read. Still skimming just to take in any useful information he needed right at this moment, he scrolled to the bottom of the message but stopped abruptly at the initials- his heart seeming frozen mid-beat.

_No. That's impossible. Only one person I know has those initials. This can't be…_

Frantically scrolling to the top, he analytically read through every word of the message, this time not letting anything distract him and as he read, his pulse raced faster and faster. Nothing was adding up. Nothing was making any logical sense-_ This was his number-he knows I'm dead- Why now?_

_Sherlock, just getting back to the flat now- could you ask Mrs. Hudson to open the door for me- I'm bringing up some groceries -see you in a minute. -JW_

And then with another beeping tone sounding the arrival of another text, Sherlock jumped in spite of himself, senses warped in utter confusion and disbelief.

Opening the second text, which turned out to have picture attached, Sherlock was hit with the force of a train with the sense of overwhelming dawning of comprehension.

_Yes, why don't you let your Watson come up- don't you miss your pet? He's dying to see you- Alive that is. Won't you join us? We're so eager for a happy little reunion-though, I regret that it may just be the last you two will ever see if you don't hurry. See you soon!_

_-SM_

And beneath was a picture of John, his one true and greatest friend, sitting bound and gagged with an expression of terror upon his features Sherlock had never seen cross the ever constant brave soldier's face before.

In an instant, he had sprung to his feet, completely forgetting his previous worry of being found out or too conspicuous- none of that mattered now.

_John was in danger._

_It was time for Sherlock Holmes to rise again._

_This was it._

_This ended now._


End file.
